


Peace and Quiet

by linndechir



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-06 07:17:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linndechir/pseuds/linndechir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Growing a beard as a sign of grief is an old Valyrian tradition. Aegon hates it. Orys tries to cheer him up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peace and Quiet

It was late in the evening by the time Orys finally reached King's Landing – it had been raining all week, and the last bit of his journey through the Kingswood had taken twice as long as usual – but he still made his way up to Aegon's chambers immediately. The king had been expecting him, after all, and it was not as if Aegon ever slept much. The guards didn't stop him; apparently they had been told to let him in the moment he arrived.

It was freezing outside, but Aegon's chambers were always warm and lit by numerous candles, a large fire burning in the fireplace. Aegon was not a soft man, but he did appreciate some comfort. When Orys saw his brother's face, though, he stopped short, words of greeting dying on his lips. In the time Orys had spent at Storm's End, the king had grown a beard, slightly darker than the silver-gold hair on his head, surprisingly thick, but neatly cropped. It made Aegon look a decade older than he was. Knowing how meticulous his brother usually was about shaving – even in the midst of the war Orys had never seen him with as much as stubble on his cheeks – Orys could not have been more surprised if Aegon had dyed his hair blue on a whim.

"Your Grace?" His confusion made him go for the title instead of a more familiar address, but to his relief Aegon smiled brightly when he finally looked up from the flames he had been staring at. Whatever the reason for the beard, it was apparently not one of Aegon's darker moods.

"Brother.” Aegon turned and walked over to Orys. He scratched his cheek, with a mildly irritated look on his face; it was the gesture of a younger man, the kind that Aegon had almost suppressed entirely since he had made himself king. "You're late. I expected you yesterday."

“You do know that not all of us have dragons to carry us around?" He stepped into Aegon's personal space, just close enough to feel the heat emanating from his body. Aegon leant his forehead against Orys' and let out a long, quiet breath. Orys could feel the tension seeping from him. Aegon didn't reply, but there was no need for him to say that he had missed his brother. They were quiet for a minute, just breathing each other in, but Orys had never been particularly good at keeping his mouth shut for long.

"What's up with the beard?" he asked, flicking his finger against Aegon's cheek. The beard was softer than Orys' own, though not as silky as Aegon's hair.

"My uncle died," Aegon said, his voice even. Orys straightened up to look at him.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know." He tried to remember Aegon's only uncle, his mother's brother. He had been a sickly man already when Orys had first met him, and he had stayed behind on Dragonstone during the conquest. Aegon shook his head.

"We were never close. But growing a beard as a sign of grief is ... an old Valyrian tradition." Aegon sighed.

"I thought traditions were for lesser men." Orys attempted a smile. He kept his hand on Aegon's cheek, caressing the beard curiously. He wasn't really sure if it suited Aegon, and it seemed like a shame to cover up a face that handsome, but he liked the feeling of the short hair against his fingertips.

"They are. But both my sisters loved him, it would be disrespectful to them if I disregarded their grief. Rhaenys wouldn't say anything, but Visenya would never let me hear the end of it." He scratched his cheek again. "When my parents died, I was still half a boy. I didn't even know I could have that much hair on my face."

"Mhm." Orys stepped closer until his nose brushed against his brother's, then breathed a light kiss onto the bearded chin. "I might just grow to like it. How long do you have to keep it?"

"A full moon." Aegon sounded unhappy, but he gladly leant into Orys' touch. 

"Only?" Orys nuzzled Aegon's chin. "What a pity.”

Aegon chuckled, but he finally raised his hand to Orys' face, the gesture mirroring Orys' own.

"Why? You like your boys beardless." There was no real jealousy in Aegon's voice; he didn't care for the boys Orys had to warm his bed at Storm's End or even here in King's Landing. He didn't like it, as such, but he knew better than to try and keep Orys from doing what he wanted. And he knew that none of those boys meant anything to his brother, that they were hardly more than toys to him, pleasant entertainment for those nights when he couldn't have Aegon.

"You're not one of my boys," Orys mumbled, his voice dropping low, his lips brushing against Aegon's now. He had spent three weeks at Storm's End, and Aegon had not found the time to visit. It was too long a separation for his taste. "You're my brother, my king."

He sighed against Aegon's skin, slipped his fingers underneath the thick red velvet he wore. There was always something military about Aegon's attire, clear-cut lines, clothes that wouldn't restrict him if he ever ended up in an unexpected fight. It was as much of a concession as he would make to not wearing armour every day. But the fabrics were nonetheless rich, and studded with rubies. Even in the privacy of his rooms he looked every inch a king, albeit a king who was still ready and able to defend his throne no matter the cost. Aegon looked regal no matter what he was doing, and when he tried, he even looked like more than just human, like a demigod who had simply taken on human form for convenience. There was something about the way Aegon carried himself that filled people around him with awe, even those few who knew him as well as Orys did. But that was simply charisma and force of will, while the tired smile on Aegon's face now was the part of him that nobody else ever saw. Even if Aegon was a half a god, the other half was still human.

"You were gone for too long," Aegon said after a while. He was leaning against Orys now, Orys' arms wrapped around him. They were the same height, their build almost identical; if not for the different colouring, they could have been twins, their bodies and faces mirrors of each other. "It's lonely here without you."

"Your sisters –“

"My sisters are grieving, they are bad company." Aegon's beard scratched Orys' neck; it was an unfamiliar sensation, but Orys hardly minded. It was not all that strange, not with Aegon's body fitting into his arms as if it was made for it, with the familiar touch of his lips, his smell. Aegon's hands tightened on Orys' hips, a possessive, almost painful grip. Large eyes, slightly bluer than his sisters', met Orys'. More seriously he added, "And my sisters are not you."

Orys felt his chest tighten. He knew that Aegon loved his sisters dearly, but for all that he had married both of them and hardly minded sharing their beds, his love for them was not passionate; it was still more a brother's love than anything else. Visenya and Rhaenys had each other, after all. Orys was all his.

"Stay at court," Aegon said. His voice was gentle, but it was an order, not a request. "I need you here, and your wife is quite capable of ruling the Stormlands in your stead for a while."

Orys grinned against Aegon's cheek.

"One might say that your wives are also quite capable of ruling the realm in your – or my – stead."

Aegon laughed softly, unoffended. After all he made no secret of his lack of interest in the more mundane parts of ruling. He was a warrior; he preferred to leave politics to his siblings.

"Oh, they are. I just like it when you keep an eye on them."

Orys laughed and leant his head against Aegon's shoulder. The new beard tickled his nose.

"Enough talk of politics, brother. And of your sisters." Even after all these years, they were always Aegon's sisters, not Orys'. Neither of them liked him much, and although they had grudgingly accepted that he wasn't going anywhere and even respected him since the conquest, they were always rather distant. They used to refer to him as "our father's bastard", these days they simply called him Lord of Storm's End or Lord Hand, but as far as they were concerned, there was no relation between them worth mentioning. No, Orys really preferred not to waste his evening thinking about them, when he would have to see them far more often than any of them liked now that he was back in King's Landing.

Aegon obliged him gladly and stayed quiet, just stood there, head on Orys' shoulder, one hand resting on the small of his back, slipped underneath several layers of fabric to feel skin. For all that he was quite good with words when necessary, he was a quiet man, withdrawn and never one for idle talk. How much he stayed away from his lords was, of course, also a calculated move, part of his image as an almost god-like conqueror who was far above even the most noble houses of Westeros, but nobody had forced him to make that move, he could just as easily have played the charismatic, likeable man of the people. But Aegon liked being so aloof that no one hardly ever addressed him with anything but matters of state, and he barely talked to anyone but his siblings beyond the necessary.

"You're brooding again," Orys teased after a few minutes of silence. He had always had a far more cheerful temper than his brother. Courtesy of his upbringing, he supposed. It was easy to be happy when you had known worse, and an unwanted bastard boy was quick enough to appreciate the good things he was given in life. But a man like Aegon, who had always had most of what he wanted and taken what was missing? There were no simple pleasures for him, no easy distractions. He had always spent too much time alone with his mind, that terrifying, larger-than-life mind of his, the will and ambition that were too big for one man to contain. When Orys' mother had told him who his father was, she had said that the Targaryens were just as insane as they were beautiful. Orys hadn't known his father well, but Aegon was not insane. He saw the world with a terrifying clarity, as a beautiful complex thing to be bent to his will. Orys sometimes wondered what the world looked like through Aegon's eyes, what it was like to be so far above other men that he might as well have been insane, for all that they could not understand him.

Aegon rarely even shared his thoughts with Orys, but Orys was still the only person he ever let close enough to catch a glimpse at his softer side, a side he did not even like his sisters to see.

"I am not made for peace." Aegon smiled thinly; there was no self-pity in his voice, just tired resignation.

"So? I was probably not made to be a lord," Orys replied without missing a beat. "But _you_ made me one. What does it matter what the gods made us for when we both have you to make us into something better?"

Aegon laughed, knowing that those words were no cheap flattery from Orys, but the simple truth. After all, Orys did owe him everything, and while he did not mind praying to those Seven new gods if Aegon wanted him to, the one he truly worshiped was his brother.

"Ah. I've made you a lord and you're happy about that. But I've made myself king and I'm …"

"You can't tell me you're not happy about your pretty crown and your ugly throne. We both know that's not true."

Aegon frowned. "Of course I … appreciate it. But ... when you've done what I've done, and at my age – what else is there left for you to do?"

"Has it ever occurred to you, brother," Orys took Aegon's face between his hands, his palms cradling it gently, his fingertips caressing the beard, "that you could just enjoy the spoils of your victory for the rest of your life?"

Aegon finally smiled again at that. He often teased Orys about his shameless indulgences, his love for wine and food and pretty boys. Aegon was far from ascetic himself, but he had never been able to be quite as enthusiastic about such things as Orys was. For Aegon a good meal was something to be enjoyed while it lasted; for Orys it was a reason to be happy for the rest of the day. As much as they both loved war, Orys would be just as content never to lift a finger again in his life. Aegon, though, was always restless.

"I'm not sure I have it in me to be idle until the end of my days."

"I know. But you should try to be idle sometimes. And enjoy it." Orys tapped Aegon's temple, then ran his fingers through Aegon's hair and cradled his head. "No more brooding tonight. I get gloomy just looking at you. How am I supposed to enjoy your beard like that, huh?"

"You're not supposed to enjoy it," Aegon replied, but there was mirth again in his eyes. He smiled too rarely, Orys always thought. Even now that he was closer to forty than thirty, he had barely any wrinkles around his eyes, only frown lines on his forehead. 

“You had better let me enjoy it, or I'll go see Balerion instead of you. He's nicer to me.” He didn't have any intention of leaving now, but he knew that thinking of how much Balerion liked Orys, for whatever reason, always made Aegon smile. 

“I can't let that happen, can I?” Aegon's hands finally tightened on Orys' hips again, pushing a little, turning him to shove him towards the large bed. Orys had never had an opportunity to find out which one of them was actually stronger; he didn't mind Aegon manhandling him. Aegon bent his head to kiss Orys' neck and throat, his beard rasping over sensitive skin. Orys shuddered lightly, wondered if this was how Aegon always felt with Orys' beard against his skin. 

Orys hated how long it always took to get undressed in winter, how many layers there were to get rid of before he finally felt Aegon's skin against his own, soft and flawless over hard muscles. Aegon was heavy on top of him when they fell onto the bed, heavy and strong and nothing like those slender, soft boys Orys usually preferred. But even after weeks apart, Aegon did not kiss him with the needy urgency of someone who was simply impatient, but slowly, savouring every touch, every moan from Orys' lips, every second they had together. Aegon's bed always felt like coming home, despite the unfamiliar scratch of the beard against Orys' skin when the king kissed his way over his chest, his stomach, down to his thighs. It tickled, but in the same pleasant way that a lover's silky hair or soft fingertips would tickle sometimes. Even if he preferred how Aegon looked clean-shaven, Orys realised that he would definitely miss the beard in bed.

Later that night they curled up against each other, naked and sweaty and breathless. Aegon's hair stuck to his forehead, his eyes were a dark purple in the candle-light, the smile on his face was relaxed and content. He almost looked like a normal man, or he would if Orys had ever seen a normal man that beautiful. He caressed Aegon's beard again when the king's head came to rest against Orys' chest, his eyes closing, his breathing slowing down when he drifted off into sleep. Aegon finally looked like he did not have a care in the world, like his mind had found some rest for the night. He was a fitful sleeper even when he was in a good mood, but Orys' presence seemed to soothe him. Or maybe just exhaust him enough to make him sleepy.

Orys grinned against Aegon's hair. He always felt more awake after sharing his brother's bed, but he didn't mind staying up a bit longer and watching Aegon. Not to mention that it would give Aegon the opportunity to tease him in the morning for being lazy and barely making it out of bed before noon. 

Every time he left Storm's End – his own castle, his wife, his sons and his daughter, all those soldiers and servants who were sworn to obey him, more than he had ever dreamt of having – he felt that he would miss it terribly, but the feeling always vanished the moment he returned to Aegon's side. His home was here, with him. Of all the things he had done for Aegon over the years, there was nothing he considered as important as ensuring his brother's happiness. Aegon could have conquered Westeros without his help, without even his sisters' help. He had never had any trouble getting the things he wanted. But he never wasted a single thought on what he needed, so Orys considered himself responsible for that.

An hour passed before he fell asleep as well, and the last thing he took with himself to his dreams was the blissful smile on Aegon's lips. It was worth more to him than all the castles and riches his brother had given him.


End file.
